She followed him into the kitchen, where he gestured to an identical disco ball already sitting on the island. She laughed. “Did you buy yours at Riverside Drugstore?”

“Yeah. You realize, right, that these matching disco balls represent our perfection for each other?”

“No.” She set her ball next to his. “They simply represent that we both pay attention to detail—a conclusion anyone could reach based on our academic records.”

He punched a command into his phone and the song “With or Without You” flowed from unseen speakers.

“1980s music,” she noted.

He pointed out the rest of his preparations. “Grapes.” Several small triangular bunches of grapes rested on a plate. “Cheesecake from Tart Bakery. Can you tell that the thermostat’s set to sixty-nine?”

“Oh yes. I’d recognize this temperature anywhere.”

“Anything else I can do to please you?” He gave a wolfish smile.

“No. These are exactly the conditions I require when cooking dinner.”

He’d already set out some of the items needed for enchiladas. Groceries. A baking pan. A mixing bowl. “I printed out a recipe,” he said.

“An easy one?”

“I challenge you to find an easy recipe for chicken, white cheese enchiladas with a salsa verde sour cream sauce.”

“‘Let’s keep a little optimism here.’ That’s a—”

“Han Solo quote.” He held her gaze. “I memorized his twenty most famous lines in order to impress you.”

It was the best night he’d had . . . ever?

The only night that could compete with it was the previous night.

They’d cooked together and eaten at the table he never used when he was here alone. After the sun set, he’d lit a fire in the fireplace that anchored the sitting area on the far side of the kitchen. The windows surrounding the space let in views of his backyard.

They were currently sitting on the sofa, finishing slices of cheesecake.

The necklace he’d given her swung forward as she leaned toward the coffee table to collect another bite. When she sat upright, it settled back into a new position against her pale, creamy skin.

He was in serious trouble.

Be mine, he kept thinking every time he noticed her lips, her profile, her almond-shaped eyes surrounded by thick lashes. Be mine.

Just like the first time he’d met her, he had a powerful desire to keep her with him.

Experience had matured Leah Montgomery. She wasn’t shallow or wrapped up in things that didn’t matter. She made him feel sharply alive, and she also stilled the part of him that was usually grasping and discontent.

“Good?” he asked once she’d finished her cheesecake.

“Unbelievably good.”

“Ready for the disco balls?”

“I am if you are.”

He set the disco balls on the coffee table, turned them both on, then dimmed the overhead lights. Colored dots danced across the walls, across the front of her sweater, across her unforgettable features.